


Red and terrible and red

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selyse Baratheon is a lot less devout than she appears to be. </p>
<p>Written for the <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">Game of Thrones kink meme</a> on Livejournal.</p>
<p>Prompt was <i>Melisandre/Selyse, wax play</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Red and terrible and red

Selyse will never tell her husband what she does when she meets with her priestess. He presumes that it is her devotion to the Lord of Light that inspires her to such devotion, if he thinks of her at all, but her motivations are far less chaste. She had never felt much in the way of affection for him, aside from a vague wifely devotion that was instilled in her at a young age as something that was a matter of duty, and in this, she and Stannis have at least that in common. 

But when she surrenders to Melisandre, when she’s on her knees before the woman in red, it’s as if she’s a different person, and everything has changed. 

She reclines, on the curtained bed, her lady looming above her. The red flames from the candle on the headboard flicker across her torso, dancing across her stomach, her breasts. Her face is enshrouded in shadow, the only features visible the reddish glint of her eyes, narrowed with what appears to Selyse to be pleasure. 

As for Selyse, she is restrained, wrists bound with a fine length of scarlet silk, hands curled helplessly. 

When her lady looms closer, breasts brushing hers, her slender fingers slipping between her thighs, finding her wet, Selyse closes her eyes, moaning. Her lips part, and she cries out as Melisandre’s attentions intensify.

When Melisandre reaches for the candle, Selyse draws a sharp breath, which only intensifies as the wax drips slowly onto her breasts, down her stomach, and onto the tops of her thighs, singing her tender flesh, and it grows red, red as the flame, the curtains, her eyes, her hair, everything glaring and pulsing and red around her. Arching her back, straining against her bonds, she cries out the name of her god. 

It’s all too much to bear. It’s frightening, horrible, blasphemous, and _perfect_.


End file.
